And Into The Fire
by Misato
Summary: Dean and Castiel may not have been getting along all that well as of late, but when the fighting in Heaven goes bad and Cas asks for help Dean can't say no. General S6 spoilers, slash. Warning: suicide, violence.


_Dean._

The whisper was right by his ear but when Dean turned his head nothing was there. He frowned for a second, then shrugged and went back to chatting up the Budweiser spokesmodels who were so charmingly hanging on his every word.

_Dean. Dean, I...I can't..._The voice was weaker this time but still seemed right behind him; he had the impression of a faint touch, ghostly fingers reaching for his shoulder, but just like before when he turned around there was nothing to see.

The twins were still smiling at him but it didn't matter; Dean knew this was a dream. And only one person would mess up his chances of scoring with twin spokesmodels in his own dream. "Cas?" he said to the air, pushing himself away from the bar. "Cas, that you? What the hell is it?"

_Dean?_ Castiel's voice was so faint for a second Dean thought he'd only imagined he'd heard it. _Can't reach you. Trying...Dean..._The words were swallowed up by a choked moan and Dean's annoyance evaporated..

"Cas, what's wrong? Where are you?"

His vision swam for a second; when it snapped back into focus he saw himself standing in a spotlessly white corridor full of archways and branching halls. Gold tile glowed softly under his feet and Dean knew he was seeing through Castiel's eyes, or at least seeing an approximation that wouldn't turn Dean's brain into pudding. Horrible, lancing pain radiated from his side; Dean felt himself stumble into one wall when his legs almost gave out and leaned against it, each breath an agony. He pressed one hand to his side and felt wetness flow over his fingers, too hot and coming much too fast. Dean had the desperate impression that he needed to keep moving, that _they were coming_. He ducked into a narrow, winding corridor seeking shelter, a place to hide; he stepped wrong and stumbled, the pain flaring up like a giant hand grabbing him and squeezing.

Suddenly the floor rushed towards him with dizzying speed. He felt the impact vibrate through him, his teeth clacking together so hard he tasted blood. He tried to push himself back up but his arms shook, his strength failing. He leaned his forehead against the cool of the floor. He needed to rest. Just for a moment.

"Cas, don't pass out," Dean said aloud, the vision starting to shimmer and fade. "You hear me, you son of a bitch, you get up and you keep moving." He knew angel biology didn't have all that much in common with humans but he also knew damn well what shock felt like. "_Get up._"

_Dean?_ The voice was hazy and distant. He did try again to get up, gasping when the movement sent pain shooting through his entire body. _Hurts._ Dean felt him curl up around the injury. _So tired._

Dean's hands curled into fists. "_Don't pass out!_You fight, Cas, you understand?" He again felt the impression of ghostly fingers on his arm and realized it was Castiel reaching for him, trying to break through into his dream. Dean tried to reach back but didn't know how.

His eyes snapped open and Dean found himself staring up at the cracked ceiling of his motel room. He glanced over and saw Sam snoring away on the opposite bed; Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and buried his face in his hands, breathing hard. "God_dammit_, Cas." He skated his fingers over his side, half-expecting his hand to coming back bloody.

He got up to shake Sam awake and stopped himself at the last second. Dean only knew of one way to get to Heaven, and that was to not be breathing. They'd just managed to put Sam's soul back _in_his body, and here he was about to suggest they wrench it out again. Dean had no idea what a day trip up to Heaven would do to the wall Death had put in Sam.

Dean knew Sam would probably hate him forever, but this was one hunt he couldn't tag along on.

888

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop in the middle of nowhere and leaned his head back against the seat. He eased out his sidearm and stared at it, turning it over in his hands. The last time they'd needed to walk around without their skin they'd called in Pamela and it had gotten her killed; Dean wasn't going to have a repeat of that. No one was going to get hurt helping Dean out this time around.

Well, no one but him, anyway.

The gun would be fast but it was risky; if he messed up the shot he wasn't helping anyone. He wracked his mind looking for something better, something a little more foolproof, and remembered passing by a little ramshackle shed on an abandoned farm.

_Perfect._

Twenty minutes later he backed the car through the narrow doorway; the shed was barely large enough to hold her, which was exactly what he'd been looking for. He opened all of the car's windows and cut the power, jumping out to shut the shed doors tight. Dean slid back behind the steering wheel and closed his eyes. After a few moments he pulled out his phone and punched in Bobby's number, sighing in relief when it went to voice mail because did he ever not want to argue about this right now. "Hey, Bobby, it's Dean," he said into the phone, his voice shaking more than he'd like. "Look, Cas got himself into some trouble up there - bad trouble, like might be dying trouble - and I've gotta go up there after him. Yeah, I know. If I can't come back, I wanted you to know why I did it so you didn't blame yourself or whatever it is you'd do. No one's forcing me, I swear. If this goes bad, look after Sam and...I don't know, smooth things over with him, 'cause he's gonna be pissed at me." He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "See you around, I guess."

He ended the call, kind of regretting making it in the first place. His hand shook when he touched the keys still sitting in the ignition; there was an ugly, cowardly part of his mind arguing with him, reminding him of what an incredible _asshole_ Castiel had been for most of the past year. Was he _sure_wanted to do this? How did he even know he'd go to Heaven, anyway? Did he really want to risk the alternative?

Dean turned the key in the ignition, ordering that part of his mind to _fuck off_. Cas was in pain. He'd reached out to Dean with the last of his strength, asking for help. Even taking into account the bullshit of the past year, if after everything they'd been through he ignored that and left Castiel to bleed to death alone Dean knew he didn't deserve to be breathing anyway.

He closed his eyes and waited.

And it didn't seem very long at all before he found himself standing outside the car, staring down at his body. "Man, I'm just never going to get used to that." He remembered his ghost training and reached in to turn off the engine; no need to have his baby burn herself out running on fumes in a few hours. Then he opened the shed door, sat on the hood and waited, wishing he had a beer.

"Well, I have to admit, this is a surprise."

Dean grinned. Exactly who he'd been hoping for. "Hey, Tessa. Always a pleasure."

The Reaper had her arms crossed, her eyebrows quirked up in a curious expression. "Never though you would be a suicide, Dean, even with what you told me the last time we met."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a mystery in an enigma. Can we go?"

Tessa raised one eyebrow. "Just like that? No fighting?"

He jumped off the hood. "Nope. Got someplace I need to be."

"Dean, what exactly do you think is happening?"

"You're gonna take me and … I don't know send me into the light. Or whatever. Look, I've got to get to Heaven and I don't have time to argue about it."

She sighed. "You don't get to decide where you go, Dean."

He crossed the distance between them, getting right in her face. "Friend of mine's hurt up there, so that's where I'm headed. Anything that gets in the way of that's going to regret it. You got me?" He threw up his hands. "Why are you even arguing with me? You've been trying to get me to go with you for ages, now I'm good to go. What is your problem?"

She stared at him a moment, then shook her head. "I actually hopes this works out for you, Dean. Really, I do."

Dean sighed in relief. Really, in the state he was in he had no way of strong arming a Reaper. "So, what now? You hugged the kid, is that how this goes?"

Her lips quirked up into a half smile. "If you like."

"Hey, um." Her smile went tight, as if she was thinking _Oh, here it comes._"If my ride back doesn't work out...I don't know, I guess as Reapers go you're not so bad."

She gave him a real smile then. "Thank you, Dean. Shall we?" He nodded, she wrapped her arms around him and Dean felt himself _leaving_. He focused on the white and gold corridor from his vision, tried to picture the exact pattern of arches, tried to picture as clearly as he could that narrow hallway where Castiel was hiding. He pushed out all other thoughts, the Pit, Purgatory, the _This Is Your Life _tour his last trip to Heaven had been until nothing existed except that hallway, no colors except white and gold.

He may have even said a little prayer, although he would never, ever admit it.

Then there was nothing but quiet and the sense of being somewhere else.

888

Dean opened his eyes and all he saw was _light_, white and blinding; Dean shut his eyes but not before the shock of it forced him off his feet. _Okay, this is a problem._He hadn't thought about whether he'd be able to function in the angels-only area of Heaven (and really, he hadn't thought through a lot of this plan, as he was quickly coming to realize). He cracked his eyes open and the light burned, somehow even brighter than before. He slammed his fist against the floor, biting back the urge to say something blasphemous and profane - with his luck, that would just bring every angel in earshot running.

Dean stood up, his hands tight fists at his sides. He hadn't come this far to get defeated by a freaking _room_.

Last time he'd been in Heaven, Zachariah had told him that everything he'd been seeing was just perception. He focused on the vision Castiel had showed him and _willed _his surroundings to become that, imposing his memory on them just like that first time. After few seconds he felt the light hammering against his eyelids die down and he took the chance of opening them.

He found himself in the hallway from the vision and felt his lips curl up. _Damn right. And you stay that way._ Now all that was left was actually _finding_ Cas in all this.

The halls were a maze of seemingly-identical arches and corridors; Dean supposed if he'd had angel-vision it might be easier to find his way around but all his stupid human eyes could show him was white hallway after white hallway. Every time he thought he saw something familiar - the archway pattern from the vision, that narrow hallway - he just found himself in a new part of the maze. He fought back the urge to call for Castiel; he had no way of knowing if Cas was in any shape to answer and, more importantly, didn't know what _else_was roaming these halls. Dean didn't have any weapons, hadn't had the time to spare to figure out a way to bring some, and if he ran into some pissed-off angel Dean knew he was toast.

After his fourth wrong turn Dean pulled to a stop and slammed his fist into one wall. Cas had been bleeding out too fast for him him keep wasting time like this. "Okay, God," he growled, low, barely audible, "I know you and me don't talk much, but you sure as hell are going to listen now. Death said you could die. If you let _Cas_die before I can find him, I'm gonna find you and we're gonna know if he was right."

Dean didn't know if it was the prayer, such as it was, or if his luck had finally turned, but just then he looked down and saw spots of red against the far wall. Dean knew that if he'd still had a heartbeat it would be pounding; when he examined it the blood was going tacky, just starting to dry, and Dean let out a soft sigh of relief that apparently less time had passed up here than he'd thought. He looked around and found a few more spots of blood further down, then turned a corner and found a long smear of blood staining the wall. Dean knew he was close now, that must be the wall Castiel had collapsed against. It only took a few seconds more to find a narrow, winding hallway that matched the one from the vision.

He ducked around one of the bends and finally, _finally_ saw a still figure crumpled on the floor just before the next turn. For a moment he thought he'd been too late after all.

Then he shook that off and rushed forwards, dropping to his knees so hard he felt the impact ripple up through his spine. Castiel was curled on his side, a spreading pool of dark blood beneath him. When Dean turned him over he moved like a broken doll; his eyes were half-open in a vacant, thousand-yard stare that didn't change as Dean leaned over him. "Cas? Cas, you in there?" Dean swore and looked to the wound; the injury was just _ugly_, a stab into his side and angled up. For an instant the blood glistened silver and metallic, almost like Castiel was bleeding mercury, then Dean blinked and the blood turned to the dark red his mind expected to see. Dean wrapped his overshirt around Castiel, cinching it tight to put pressure on the wound. Cas let out a broken sound too soft to be called a moan, his body shuddering; Dean muttered apologies under his breath as he knelt back over him."Cas? You hear me?"

Castiel twitched, his head turning towards Dean's voice although his eyes stayed glazed and unfocused. He stared in Dean's direction for a few moments, then his eyes widened. "Are...are you dead?"

Dean winced - of _course _Castiel would be able to see he was just his soul. "Yeah. Yeah, for the moment."

Castiel shook his head, his breathing erratic. "But I don't want you to be dead."

It twisted Dean's gut, hearing Cas sound so fragile. "I'm not thrilled about it either, but it's temporary." _At least I hope so._"Think of it as a layover."

Castiel's breath rattled as he kept staring at Dean. "Shouldn't...have done this."

"Yeah, well...guess I don't want you to be dead either." Dean gently took the sword from his limp fingers, laid it aside and held his hand. "You're gonna be okay. We'll get out of this." Not that he knew _how_, exactly; Castiel had nowhere near enough juice to get them out of there and when he looked at his makeshift bandage it was already dark and heavy with blood. "You know a way out?"

Castiel blinked slowly, as if trying hard to remember what all those words meant, and Dean shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'll figure something out." Castiel squeezed his hand, like he was apologizing to Dean or trying to encourage him or some mix of both. "You just stay with me, okay?" Dean said, stroking his free hand through his hair.

Castiel nodded, although Dean wasn't sure Castiel even knew what he was agreeing to do. Dean could tell now that Cas was something approaching conscious he was feeling the pain again, his eyelids fluttering as deep, desperate whimpers escaped from his throat. He'd been trembling the whole time but as Dean watched the shaking worsened until it was like he was hypothermic. "Cas. Cas, buddy, hold on," Dean said, helpless and hating it. He put his hand on Castiel's forehead and Cas moaned, his eyes rolling back. "_Cas._You stay with me."

Dean couldn't stand watching Cas shake anymore. He slid one arm under Castiel's shoulders (Cas whimpered when Dean let go of his hand, groping blindly for Dean as if he'd thought Dean had left) and levered him off of the chill of the floor. Castiel hissed at the initial movement but his breathing steadied when Dean cradled him against his chest, his head resting against Dean's collarbone. Within moments the shaking eased from the violent, full-body shudder back to a faint shiver and Dean saw Castiel's eyes drift closed. "That better? Not so cold now?"

Castiel nodded, pressing one bloody hand over Dean's heart - or over where Dean's heart would be were he alive, anyway. "I missed you," he whispered.

Dean didn't know whether Cas meant that long year with no contact or the more recent stuff, where they could barely look at each other without getting into a fight, but Dean supposed it didn't matter now. "Me too, Cas," Dean said, and it hit him like a truck, the truth of that. "I missed you too." It was almost like they'd stepped back in time two years. "Gotta say, if I'd known all it would take for you to stop being such a dick was to make you bleed a little bit I would've done it a while ago." Castiel huffed out an amused breath that devolved into a wet, wracking cough, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Dean ran the pad of his thumb over the blood to wipe it away, willing his hand steady. "Sorry, he said, shifting Cas into a more comfortable position. "I'll hold off ripping on you until you're patched up, deal?"

Castiel's lips twitched up. "Look...look forward to it."

Then Dean heard voices. High and piercing at first, angels' true voices running through Dean like daggers, then the filter that let him see Castiel as _Cas_ instead of something the size of a skyscraper kicked in, shifting the voices into something more human. He felt Castiel tense. "Dean," Cas whispered, his voice like metal scraping over metal. "Go."

"Fuck that, Cas. Unless these are some of yours?"

Castiel shook his head and Dean hadn't expected anything else. They weren't that lucky.

He very carefully lay Castiel back down and picked up the sword. The moment he wrapped his hand around the hilt a charge rushed through him, making him hiss. He felt his shoulder burn, the hand print reacting to the sword; that hadn't happened the last time he'd used one of these, when he'd killed Zachariah, but Dean supposed it made sense they'd work differently in Heaven. It hadn't even done this when he'd touched it a few minutes before, almost like it knew Dean intended to use it now. And Dean felt like he _knew_ how to use it, like out of nowhere he could use a freaking _sword_ just as well as his favorite knife. "Guess you wanna kill these bitches as much as I do, huh?"

Castiel grabbed his wrist as Dean moved to stand, his eyes focused for the first time since Dean had been there. "Don't. Dean, run. Dean..." His groaned, his hand falling away as if that had taken every last bit of strength he had.

"What? You'd rather me let them just walk up and finish the job?" Cas didn't answer but his eyes hooded in a way Dean didn't like at all. "Indulge your death wish when I'm not around, Cas," Dean snarled. Then he got up, stalked to the turn in the corridor and waited.

He could hear the voices coming closer, and now he could make out what they were saying. "I don't believe you lost him," said the first, a deep, sonorous voice.

"It doesn't matter. As I said, he didn't get far." Dean could almost see the second angel pointing to the bloody smear on the wall.

The first angel laughed, the sound tightening Dean's grip on the sword. "Just remember Raphael's orders: he wants the wings."

"As long as we get to keep the rest."

Dean supposed he should thank Cas' asshole brothers for making this easier. He waited for them to get close and imagined them stumbling on Cas as he was, hurt and helpless. Imagined them cutting off his wings so Raphael could have a trophy. Imagined them filling Castiel's last seconds with torture and pain, with Cas so weak he couldn't even scream.

Dean might not technically have had adrenaline right then, but this was working just as well.

For a second he thought they were going to pass by, miss the hallway entirely, and felt a pang of disappointment. Then he heard them turn the corner and he smiled, the sword vibrating with anticipation in his hand. _Sucks to be you two._

Dean stepped out of his hiding place right in front of the two angels. "Hey, boys. What're the chances, huh?" The second of stunned surprise was all Dean needed; he swung the sword in a wide arc across the first angel's throat. Blood sprayed like a fountain, shining and silver in the air and deep, deep arterial red by the time it hit Dean's face. Dean licked his lips, the strange blood burning his tongue, and grinned as the wounded angel staggered backwards, his hands pressed to his throat. He turned to the second. "Guess that means you're next."

The look in the angel's eyes changed from surprise to fury. "You _dare_?" he roared, and Dean recognized the deep voice from the hall, the one that had laughed while talking about cutting off Cas' wings.

"You guys really need to get some new lines." The angel backhanded him and Dean flew into the wall, landing hard with a solid _thunk_. He should have guessed he wouldn't be any stronger as just a soul.

Still, on the bright side he didn't have any bones to break. No concussions. Dean picked himself up and smiled, tightening his grip on his sword. "That the best you got?"

The angel strode over and hauled Dean up by his shirt. "You're soaked in Castiel's Grace," the angel growled. "Lead us to him and we will refrain from scattering your soul across the cosmos."

Dean looked over the angel's shoulder and saw the first angel, the one he'd cut, collapse to the floor and start pulsing with white, blinding light. "You might want rethink that whole 'us' bit." The angel's head turned and Dean took advantage of the distraction to angle up the point of the sword. "Hey! We're talking!" When the angel turned back to Dean, still clearly distracted by the plight of his brother, Dean stabbed up with the sword, knowing this would be his only chance.

It was good enough. The angel dropped Dean and fell to his knees, Castiel's sword jutting out from his chest. The first angel screamed, a muffled, blood-choked sound, and exploded in light, wings charring black and ugly into the golden floor. The second angel fell over on his back and Dean crouched over him, grabbing the hilt of the sword and twisting it. "Still don't get why Cas agonizes over killing you bastards so much. I'm sure as hell not losing any sleep tonight," he said, looking right in the angel's eyes. "Long as I'm here, none of you bitches are laying a hand on him. You got that? Raphael wants his wings, he's gotta come himself." Dean wondered if Raphael could hear him. He knew that thought should terrify him but he was too lost in the violence, standing on that edge Alastair had placed him on all those years ago. He didn't care if a whole garrison of angels came for him, Dean had a sharp blade and something to fight for. His entire life that was all he'd ever needed.

He wrenched the sword out and backed away as the light built, throwing one hand over his eyes against the final explosion. He surveyed the damage with grim approval, then went back to Castiel.

Dean tried to remember if Cas had been this pale a few minutes ago. "Cas? Talk to me, buddy." Castiel sighed when Dean touched him but his eyes didn't open. Dean fought down the flutter of fear, gathered Castiel back onto his lap, then closed his eyes and waited for round two.

888

Dean had to fight off angels two more times, the first a solo scout who never even knew he wasn't alone before Dean snuck behind him and slit his throat (Dean _really_hoped that guy hadn't actually been on Cas' side; stopping to ask would have given away his position) and the second another hunting party, definitely more of Raphael's goons. That fight had gotten a little hairy; there'd been three of them, and while surprise had let him pick off two the third had thrown Dean around like a rag doll. Only angelic overconfidence had saved Dean; he'd played possum, hiding the sword beneath him, then when she'd leaned over to finish him off he'd stabbed up like a viper, slashing across her midsection in a strike that would have disemboweled her if she'd actually been in a vessel.

Dean dragged himself up, kicking the dying angel once for good measure as he staggered past. He'd been caught through the shoulder at some point and he hissed as pain radiated up and down his arm. Dean made his way back to Castiel and slid down the wall beside him, raking one hand through his hair. "Cas, your sibs all _suck_."

And every time some angel dragged Dean away from Cas' side Dean hated them just that much more, because Castiel was sinking fast. He'd gone beyond pale to a shade Dean was more used to seeing on corpses, complete with a blue tinge to his lips and nails; every so often out of the corner of his eye Dean saw flashes of light dancing under his skin. His breathing came in irregular gasps, his skin was cold and Dean had no idea what the hell he was supposed to _do_.

He heard the sound of someone approaching; just as he'd tightened his grip on the sword he heard an accent that normally drove him up the wall but was entirely welcome now. "Cas-ti-_el_," Balthazar bellowed, panic lacing each syllable. "Cassie, if you don't answer me I will kill you myself!"

Dean crept forward along the wall, close enough to catch the soft, breathed "_Cas_," as Balthazar found the blood smear on the wall. Dean shifted forward a few more feet, then reached out and dragged the him into the hallway, pinning him against the wall with one hand over the angel's mouth. "Dude. _Shut up_." And no matter how things worked out, in that moment every single second of that messed up rescue mission was worth it to Dean just for the chance to see Balthazar entirely _speechless_.

After a second Dean moved his hand and Balthazar stared at him in undisguised astonishment. "_Winchester?_"

"In the flesh. Well, not really. Look, it kills me to say this, but man, am I glad to see you. Cas is bad off and I got no idea how to get him out of here." At that Dean headed back towards Castiel; he saw Balthazar following, the angel shaking his head as if expecting to awake from a particularly bizarre nightmare. Dean knelt back next to Castiel and put one hand on his forehead, trying to bring him around. "Hey, Cas, the cavalry showed up. Well, the best we're gonna get, anyway," he said, glancing up at Balthazar and unable to resist the cheap shot.

Balthazar gasped when he saw the shape Castiel was in, kneeling across from Dean. "Oh, Cassie, look at you." He looked back at Dean, still clearly having trouble accepting Dean was there. "Where did you come from?" He looked down at the sword in Dean's hand. "And how are you _holding_ that? It's not even a physical _thing_here, it's a symbol of divine will."

"Guess I'm just special," he said, grinning at Balthazar's confusion before turning serious again. "Cas showed up in my dream and I could tell he was messed up," Dean said, shifting Castiel back to his lap; Castiel murmured something that Dean guessed was in Enochian, based on how Balthazar's expression shifted. "He couldn't come to me, so, you know. Only option."

Balthazar shook his head. "You are a very special brand of stupid, aren't you?" he said, and Dean wondered if he'd imagined that hint of admiration in the angel's voice. "And here I thought the divorce was all but final."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you going to help or not?"

"Balthazar," Castiel whispered, his eyes cracking open. "Restore Dean. Back...back in his body."

"You send me back you send us both."

Balthazar sat back on his heels. "That would be the best thing," he said. "Putting him in his vessel. He's leaking Grace everywhere, that would put a stop to it."

"Great. Bring me back to life, shove him back in the meatsuit and I'll take it from there."

"It's not that _simple_," Balthazar snarled. "You, fine, nothing to that but he won't survive being 'shoved back in his meatsuit,' as you so eloquently put it. Taking a vessel stresses us. He's lost too much Grace, he'll break apart."

Dean glared at him. "Don't you dare tell me there's nothing we can do."

"Oh, there is. Just depends on what you're willing to do."

"_No_," Castiel said, more strength in his voice than Dean would have thought him capable of. Dean knew he _really_wasn't going to like what Balthazar was about to propose.

Which didn't stop him from answering Castiel with, "Shut up, Cas. You walk into a sword, you don't get a say." He looked up at Balthazar. "Well, go ahead. Hit me."

"Don't tempt me." He sighed. "I need your soul."

Dean didn't know why he was even surprised. "Of course you do."

"Let me finish, you tiny, noisy thing. I need to take some of your soul, how much I don't know, and alter it enough to it to replace the missing Grace. Just enough so he'll survive the trip."

Dean felt his hands shake. Because _of course_. "Like artificial blood."

Balthazar nodded. "Exactly. Not ideal, but it'll keep you breathing."

"You said you're going to take pieces out of my soul. Will I get those back?"

"Does it matter?" Balthazar growled.

Dean glanced down at Castiel shivering in his lap; Cas shook his head, trying to tell Dean _no_.

It didn't matter. Dean hadn't come all this way to fail. "Do it."

Balthazar leaned forward, his eyes savage. "Don't be flip. If there's any hesitation in you, even a part of you that's unwilling, the transformed Grace will act like a poison. You two haven't exactly been kissing under the roses and I will _not_ put my brother through that. At least if I have to watch him die here the death will be clean."

Dean remembered that dark, ugly voice from the car; it was talking again, telling him this was stupid, what was he thinking, this was his _soul_.

This time it was easier to ignore. Dean knew his soul would still be back wielding a blade in Hell without Cas. He leaned forward, matching Balthazar's stare. "You deaf? I said _do it_."

Balthazar smiled, a grim, frankly terrifying expression. "If this doesn't work you'll wish you were back on that rack, I assure you." Then he slapped one hand against the hand print on Dean's shoulder, _hard_, placing his other hand gently against Castiel's forehead. "For what it's worth, your soul should recover, just like his Grace."

"Hey, at least you don't have to go rooting around in my chest to touch my soul, right?"

Balthazar shook his head. "How will I ever live with the disappointment?"

"Will...?" Dean started, and Balthazar shot him a murderous look. "Will my soul hurt him? I mean, I've done a lot of stuff, it's gotta be a mess."

Balthazar's smile turned sad. "If you could see the state of his Grace you wouldn't ask." He took a deep breath. "Okay, children, let's everyone say a prayer now."

Then there was light, and _pain_, and Dean didn't even know if it had worked before the darkness came.

888

Dean woke to find himself lying in the grass in front of a ramshackle shed next to an abandoned farm. He lay there for a few moments, wondering whether that had all been a particularly terrible dream and if it wasn't, whether he was a walking monster like Sam had been all those months.

It hit him that just having that thought meant he'd dodged that bullet.. Dean painfully rolled over and pushed himself up to his knees. "Cas?" he gasped out, his throat too dry to put out any volume. He saw a spot of beige and pulled himself towards it. "Cas?"

Dean turned him over and sighed in relief; Castiel was unconscious but breathing, his pulse weak but steady. He was still _pale_but not the chalk-white he'd been up in Heaven, none of that blue tinge that had marked his lips and nails. "Guess we're even, huh, Cas?" There was no response but Dean hadn't expected one; he hauled Cas up and dragged him to the car, shoving him into the passenger seat. There was a paper folded under the driver's side wiper; when Dean unfolded it he realized it was a note.

_centerAlways an adventure, Dean. Next time, no backing out.  
-Tessa/center_

Dean grinned. "Yeah, we'll see." He started the car, that beautiful sound reminding him he was _alive_. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sam's number.

Sam picked up on the third ring. "Dean?" he said. "It's like...four AM." A beat went by, then Sam said, "Wait, where _are_ you?"

"Had something I needed to take care of. Look, you haven't talked to Bobby, have you?"

"What? No."

Dean let out a sigh of relief. "Good. He calls before me and Cas get back there, tell him everything worked out and I'm fine."

"What worked out? Wait, you and Cas? Dean, what's going on?"

"Tell you when we get back. Just...you know, calm him down if he calls," Dean said, hanging up before Sam could ask any more questions.

Castiel stirred beside him as he pulled back onto the highway. "Dean," he slurred. "Where...where're we going?"

"Home."

Castiel's brow furrowed. "I _was_home."

"No you fucking _weren't_." Dean let out a long breath. "You said once you'd rather be here. That true?" Castiel nodded. "Good. Until your Grace grows back or regenerates or whatever the hell it is you're doing, this is home. Got that?"

Castiel stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. He pressed his hand against his chest and Dean wondered if he could feel the bits of Dean's soul holding his Grace together. "Thank you, Dean," he said, very softly. "No one else would have taken such a risk for me."

Balthazar had made it sound like _Cas_had been the one taking the risk, but Dean wasn't shocked the other angel might have left things out. "Hey, my soul's gonna grow back, right? No big deal."

"It wouldn't have if Balthazar had required all of it." Dean repressed the shiver. But still, when he searched his soul - what there was of it, anyhow - he knew he wouldn't have done things differently. Balthazar was right, he _was_a special brand of stupid. "Couldn't just watch you die, Cas." He cracked a smile. "Not before I get to kick your ass properly, anyway."

Castiel stared at him for a long time. "I'm...glad to be going home, Dean."

Dean's eyes weren't wet. Absolutely not. It would be a total chick thing if they were, so obviously that couldn't be what was happening. "Me too, Cas." Then he gunned it down the highway towards the motel, going fast enough to leave the last year in the dust behind them.


End file.
